


don't come any closer, that's good enough

by caseyvalhalla



Series: oh I fell into, oh I fell down [1]
Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyvalhalla/pseuds/caseyvalhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi thinks about insects and fails to recognize flirtation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't come any closer, that's good enough

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted to tumblr back in June for No. 6 Week. Title is from _Turn It On_ by Sleater-Kinney.
> 
> Day 1: Pre-Reunion

Inukashi had said something about insects, the day before.  Specifically about a black beetle in the courtyard the dogs had been sniffing at a few days earlier, and how Shion had scooped it up in his hands and carried it to safety. Inukashi was still baffled by the event, and complained loudly at Nezumi about it at the next available opportunity.

_He started talking about ecosystems or some shit_.  Inukashi had stumbled over the unfamiliar term.   _The balance and harmony of nature and how the smallest insect ensures the survival of the tallest tree.  I don’t even know what he’s going on about half the time.  Like that beetle was going to go dig up the dirt somewhere and because of that plants would grow.  Well, good for the plants, I guess?  I almost feel bad for you, stuck listening to all his nonsense day in and day out_.

Both the retracted pity and the complaining were a front, of course; Nezumi could read the fondness in the way Inukashi so much as  _breathed_.  What those words really meant was more complicated and confusing, a simple reaction from a straightforward street kid to complicated emotions they didn’t understand.  Nezumi wasn’t sure why he cared so much, or why it kept nibbling on the edges of his mind while he tried to take in the third act of  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , which should have been much simpler and more amusing and had no business making him think of insects.

He realized somewhere in the midst of his frustration and rereading the same line five times that Shion had been speaking for several minutes from somewhere among the bookshelves.  Nezumi’s mental noise reached a terminal pitch, and he dropped the book over his face with a low growl and let both arms flop to his sides over the bed, straight out so his fingers dangled over either side.  Shion had stopped talking by the time the aging springs stopped squeaking.

“Nezumi?”  Shion’s voice was closer now, pitched somewhere between uncertainty and amusement.  “Did you have an opinion?”

“I don’t care about insects,” Nezumi declared to the inner spine of his book.

Shion’s laugh was light, and closer yet again.  “What are you—if you’re going to use the Bard to suffocate yourself, I would have picked a tragedy.”

“It’s more ironic this way.”

“Nezumi.”  Shion said the name almost like it was a laugh itself.  He wasn’t sure if he liked that.

The mattress sank down near his shoulder and the book lifted slightly away from his forehead.  Nezumi closed his eyes stubbornly.

“I asked if you had any clothes to wash.”  Shion’s breath puffed out close enough to disturb his bangs.  His voice was too soft, too amused and far too self-indulgent.  “And you’re talking about insects and drowning in Shakespeare.”

“Unfortunately this is the end for me.  Please look after the mice and donate my books to charity.”

“So dramatic,” Shion murmured, and the bed dipped under his weight.  “I’ll respect your wishes if you let me finish your laundry before you go.”

“You can’t wash it if I’m wearing it.”

There was a tug at his shoulder, Shion’s fingers pulling at the seam of his shirt.  Nezumi cracked one eye open, one hand reaching up to steady the book against his chin.  Shion had an odd smile on his face, one side of his mouth twitching up as he pulled the fabric.  “This.  You’ve been wearing it for four days.  Take it off.”

Nezumi pushed the book back onto his face and grumbled something incoherent even to himself.

“Come on.”  Shion tugged again.

He hissed in a puff against the worn pages and grabbed up the book, bent forward enough to tug the shirt off over his head in one swift movement, punctuated by balling it up and tossing it in Shion’s general direction.  He collapsed back against the pillow in a huff, thumbing through the pages to find his spot, and with any luck he’d be able to focus now with his insect-related thoughts derailed and Shion occupied by chores.

A minute later, though, Shion was still propped on the edge of the bed and Nezumi felt his stare like goosebumps on his skin.  He looked up briefly, glanced down when Shion did and then up to meet his eyes, briefly.

“They’re called muscles,” he intoned, resettling the book in his hands.  “I understand that’s a foreign concept to you, but there’s no need to stare.  Jealous?”

“Not exactly.”

Shion’s tone had that tremulous quality that afflicted him whenever he was nervous, or apologetic, and it tended to set Nezumi’s teeth on edge.  Who did he think he was fooling with that?   _Not exactly_.  Burying envy and privilege under pretty words, saving beetles from dogs.  What sort of person was Shion, really?  There were times he was certain he knew, and others when he was less certain.  Nezumi clicked his tongue, diverted all of his attention back to his book—or at least pretended to, until the mattress sprang back into place and Shion’s footsteps shuffled away, accompanied by a low, tuneless hum.

When he peered around the edge of the book the room was empty, but he was still thinking about insects.


End file.
